"How are you this morning Draco?" Pansy simpered, sliding into the chair next to him.
"Fine," he replied tersely, unwilling to make conversation. His mind was too full of his father's warning of trouble to come. He didn't know what to expect, to all appearances the school had returned to normal after another one of Harry Potter's terrible and fame-earning ordeals at the end of last year.
Pansy brushed against him reaching for the pumpkin juice, trying to attract his attention but not daring enough to disturb him.
He ignored the movement, thinking that the golden trio had calmed down and even the Slytherins had concealed whatever they thought of it. They had returned to smaller schemes, none of which had revealed themselves to include him.
Draco brooded into his scrambled eggs, his mind full of uneasy thoughts. His father had been pressuring him too much, he knew the wonderful opportunity of becoming a death eater would soon be open to him.
He laughed to himself. Wonderful opportunity. To serve a pathetic wizard who has been defeated five times by a mere child by bringing death and darkness to the world. How could he refuse? He asked himself sarcastically.
Knowing his opinions would not change the inevitability of his future; he cast his eyes around the hall for a more interesting topic, looking to the Gryffindor table sure of what he would see.
And he was right. Once more, Hermione's eyes locked onto his. They went through this nearly every meal now, testing each other, waiting to see who would break first. He didn't understand why she wasted her time. Everyone knew Malfoys hated muggle-borns, and Potter and his other sidekick made it no secret the feeling was mutual. Still. He couldn't look away.
A wind fluttered in as hundreds of owls swept through the great windows, showering the hall with letters and parcels. Draco brushed his hair back with a hand, returning each strand to its place. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his feminine behaviour.
Draco's look hardened to ice. His eyes, now slits under his brow, searched her unchanging face, seeking an answer. The rational side of him said it was just a joke. Maybe even flirting. But the rest of him was sure it was an insult. An insult to his family. A criticism from someone who knew he could do no better than conform to the Malfoy stereotype.
Rising out of his chair, he swept out of the hall, not noticing the worry on Hermione's face as she watched him leave. But she wouldn't let him escape again. Making her excuses to Ron, she followed Malfoy's path.
But neither of them knew another had seen the intercourse. Pansy Parkinson's own eyes had darkened. She would not have the boy destined to be her groom chasing after a Gryffindor. 'Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned.'